George Martin - Aces Abroad

"The water was delicious," she said, "but I'm still hungry"

"Your hunger here is an illusion."

"Then I'll fantasize a pizza."

"Mmph," Warreen said. "Very well." With a sigh he raised himself to his knees and ran his fingers over the rough bark of the tree. When he found a loose patch, he tugged it away from the trunk. His right hand darted forward, fingers scrambling to catch something Cordelia couldn't see. "Here." He displayed his find to her.

Her first impression was of something snakelike and squirming. She saw the pasty color, the segments and the many legs. "What is that?" she said.

"Witchetty grub." Warreen smiled. "It's one of our national cuisines." He thrust his hand forward like a mischievous little boy. "Does it turn your stomach, little missy?"

"Goddamnit. No," she said with a flash of anger. "Don't call me that." What are you doing? she said to herself as she reached for the creature. "Do I have to eat it live?"

"No. It is not necessary" He turned and cracked the creature against the desert oak. The witchetty grub convulsed once and ceased struggling.

Forcing herself just to do it and not think about the act, she took the witchetty, popped it into her mouth, and started chewing. God, she thought, why do I do these things?

"How do you find it?" said Warreen with a solemn face. "Well," said Cordelia, swallowing, "it doesn't taste like chicken."

The stars came out, spangling a belt across the entire sky. Cordelia lay with fingers plaited behind her head. She realized she had lived in Manhattan for close to a year and never looked for the stars at all.

"Nurunderi is up there," said Warreen, pointing at the sky, "along with his two young wives, placed there by Nepelle, the ruler of the heavens, after the women ate the forbidden food."

"Apples?" said Cordelia.

"Fish. Tukkeri-a delicacy given only to the men." His hand moved, the fingers pointing again. "There, farther on-you can make out the Seven Sisters. And there is Karambal, their pursuer. You call him Aldebaran."

Cordelia said, "I have a lot of questions." Warreen paused. "Not about the stars."

"Not about the stars."

"What, then?"

"All of this." She sat up and spread her arms to the night. "How am I here?"

"I brought you."

"I know. But how?"

Warreen hesitated for a long time. Then he said, "I am of Aranda blood, but was not raised within the tribe. Do you know of the urban aborigines?"

"Like in The Last Wave," Cordelia said. "I saw The Fringe Dwellers too. There aren't really tribal aborigines in the cities, right? Just sort of like individuals?"

Warreen laughed. "You compare almost everything to the cinema. That is likening everything to the shadow world. Do you know anything of reality?"

"I think so." In this place she wasn't so sure, but she wasn't about to admit it.

"My parents sought work in Melbourne," Warreen said. "I was born in the outback, but cannot recall any of that. I was a boy in the city." He laughed bitterly. "My walkabout seemed destined to lead me only among drunken diggers chundering in the gutter."

Cordelia, listening raptly, said nothing.

"When I was an infant, I nearly died of a fever. Nothing the wirinun-the medicine man-could do helped. My parents, despairing, were ready to take me to the white doctor. Then the fever broke. The wirinun shook his medicine stick over me, looked into my eyes, and told my parents I would live and do great things." Warreen paused again. "The other children in the town had taken ill with the same sort of fever. All of them died. My parents told me their bodies shriveled or twisted or turned into unspeakable things. But they all died. Only I survived. The other parents hated me and hated my parents for bearing me. So we left." He, fell silent.

It dawned in Cordelia's mind like a star, rising. "The wild card virus."

" I know of it," said Warreen. " I think you are right. My childhood was as normal as my parents could make it until I grew the hair of an adult. Then…" His voice trailed off. "Yes?" Cordelia said eagerly.

"As a man, I found I could enter the Dreamtime at will. I could explore the land of my ancestors. I could even take others with me."

"Then this truly is the Dreamtime. It isn't some kind of shared illusion."

He turned on his side and looked at her. Warreen's eyes were only about eighteen inches from hers. His gaze was something she could feel in the pit of her stomach. "There is nothing more real."

"The thing that happened to me on the airplane. The Eer-moonans?"

"There are others from the shadow world who can enter the Dreamtime. One is Murga-muggai, whose totem is the trap-door spider. But there is something… wrong with her. You would call her psychotic. To me she is an Evil One, even though she claims kinship with the People."

"Why did she kill Carlucci? Why try to kill me?"

"Murga-muggai hates European holy men, especially the American who comes from the sky. His name is Leo Barnett."

"Fire-breather," said Cordelia. "He is a TV preacher."

"He would save our souls. In doing so he will destroy us all, as kin and as individuals. No more tribes."

"Barnett…" Cordelia breathed. "Marry wasn't one of his people."

"Europeans look much like one another. It doesn't matter that he didn't work for the man from the sky." Warreen regarded her sharply. "Aren't you here for the same purpose?"

Cordelia ignored that. "But how did I survive the Eer-moonans?"

"I believe Murga-muggai underestimated your own power." He hesitated. "And possibly was it your time of the moon? Most monsters will not touch a woman who bleeds." Cordelia nodded. She began to be very sorry her period had ended in Auckland. "I guess I'll have to depend on the H and K." After a time she said, "Warreen, how old are you?"

"Nineteen." He hesitated. "And you?"

"Going on eighteen." They both were quiet. A very mature nineteen, Cordelia thought. He wasn't like any of the boys she remembered at home in Louisiana, or in Manhattan either.

Cordelia felt a chill plummeting both in the desert air and inside her mind. She knew the coldness growing within her was because she now had time to think about her situation. Not just thousands of miles from home and among strangers, but also not even in her own world.

"Warreen, do you have a girlfriend?"

"I am alone here."

"No, you're not." Her voice didn't squeak. Thank God. "Will you hold me?"

Time stretched out. Then Warreen moved close and clumsily put his arms around her. She accidentally elbowed him in the eye before they both were comfortable. Cordelia greedily absorbed the warmth of his body, her face tucked against his. Her fingers wound through the surprising softness of his hair.

They kissed. Cordelia knew her parents would kill her if they knew what she was doing with this black man. First, of course, They would have lynched Warreen. She surprised herself. It was no different touching him than it had been touching anyone else she'd liked. There hadn't been many. Warreen felt much better than any of them.

She kissed him many times more. He did the same to her. The night chill deepened and their breathing pulsed faster.

"Warreen…" she finally said, gasping. "Do you want to make love?"

He seemed to go away from her, even though he was still there in her arms. "I shouldn't-"

She guessed at something. "Uh, are you a virgin?"

"Yes. And you?"

"I'm from Louisiana." She covered his mouth with hers. "Warreen is only my boy's name. My true name is Wyungare."

"What does that mean?"

"He who returns to the stars."

The moment came when she raised herself to take him and felt Wyungare driving deep within her. Much later she realized she hadn't thought of her mama and what her family would think. Not even once.